Dark Angel
by jo taylor
Summary: Marcus is suffering from delusions which seem to be slowly sending him mad - or is he?


DARK ANGEL

By Jo Taylor

January 14th

Glistening trails of sweat slid serpentine paths across his naked scarred torso. The darkness threatened to envelop him, take him, drown him, only the dim light from a single candle held him anchored. The flame gleamed bravely against the stygian gloom that threatened to suffocate its brief life. It danced and flickered in front of his eyes, teasing him closer. He concentrated on the sigh of air as he breathed in deeply, then the soft whoosh as he exhaled, feeling it enter his lungs, offer up its life-giving oxygen, then leave him, depleted.

He was incredibly tired. Night after night he had been woken from sleep, sheets tangled around his sweat soaked body, visions from his dreams fleeing from his conscious mind. If he could just hold on to one thought, one piece of the nightmare, he could maybe banish it from his life. His concentration was waning rapidly. Listlessness suffused every limb, leaving him prey to episodes of inertia totally foreign to his exuberant nature.

Tonight he had awoken almost in a state of panic. His heart pounding with the heavy sound of drums in his ears, threatening to deafen him with its loud beat. And here he now sat, bringing into play every technique the Minbari masters had tried to teach him, trying to calm his senses, to follow this threat to its source.

It did not work.

January 21st

Returning to Babylon 5 after nearly a week away, Marcus reported in, debriefed and headed wearily back towards his quarters. A quick shower, something to eat and then bed. As he relaxed into sleep he felt wearily content to be home.

January 22nd

It was happening again. Faces loomed at him from the night, a parade of unclear images forcing their way into his consciousness. He had thought the nightmares over. For five nights he had slept soundly, no dreams disturbed his rest, no voices whispered unintelligibly in his ear. Energy had flowed through him once again, and he had stridden along the corridors of the station filled with his usual confidence. 

Then it happened.

Among the mass of faces that ebbed and flowed through the docking bays he had spotted one he recognised. One that he thought never to see again - Shaker. Following the rapidly disappearing back, he had pushed his way through the crowds, finally catching his prey as he entered the transport, only to find an unfamiliar face staring at him with a mix of anger and fear at his sudden approach. He had apologised, backed away with a smile that barely hid his sudden bout of nausea.

Sleep eluded him this night. Tossing and turning, he had finally risen and set about performing the most gruelling of exercises, desperate to tire his body to the point where his mind would quietly follow suit and let him rest.

By four o'clock he was showered, dressed and walking the depths of Down Below; searching for a ghost, a figment of his imagination, or his nemesis.

January 25th

Marcus could almost feel the barkeeper's wary eye resting on him where he sat, quietly now, destruction surrounding him like the result of a major disaster. No one was left in the bar, at least no one standing. 

It had started innocuously enough. Marcus had arrived late in the evening and set up his usual meeting area. People had come and gone, and between each visitor he had called for another drink. By midnight there were no other visitors and Marcus had turned his attention to the patrons sitting around him. Everywhere he looked he saw Shaker's face, the thin mouth, the close set eyes; they seemed to be watching him from every corner of the room. Standing with difficulty he had approached the nearest table, shoving his face into that of the off duty security officer who had the misfortune to be closest to hand. Not seeing the face of young Shando, but rather the ill-favoured visage of Shaker.

"If you don't stop following me…" Marcus slurred, one fist grabbing hold of the poor unfortunate's tunic. "If you don't leave me alone I'll see you never walk again, do you understand me?"

He stumbled against the chair; legs made rubber from the accumulation of alcohol. Shando, putting up his hands to ward off the drunken Ranger, found himself suddenly spilled to the floor, Marcus following him down, fist flying toward the unprotected face. Others then joined in the affray, some trying to hold back the now manic Ranger, some taking the opportunity to let out their repressed anger. The barkeeper, having seen Marcus at work before, called security and quickly took refuge behind his counter as glasses shattered, and chairs splintered all around the bar.

The fight was over as suddenly as it had begun. Marcus, his senses reeling, had collapsed against one wall, all the fight gone from him. Tears trickled unheeded down his pale cheeks as his mind whirled uncontrolled. Then darkness took him, as he slid sideways to the floor unconscious.

***

"What happened?" Delenn watched her most trusted Ranger on the security screen. He was still out for the count, and yet his sleep was restless. He tossed and turned, hands moving restlessly as though warding off some unseen threat. She had never seen him like this, drunk on the beverages served all over the station. The Minbari were allergic to alcohol, it did not exist on their home planet and the Ranger compound, although home to other races as well as Minbari, was dry. Rangers did not drink, it was forbidden to them, so why had Marcus broken this vow?

Garibaldi stood with his arms folded watching the screen, a small crease between his brows adding an edge of concern that was usually missing from his open face. 

"The best I can get is that Marcus was on a binge, took exception to something one of my juniors said and took a swing at him. Then all hell let loose. You know better than I do how much damage he can accomplish. Even drunk, he took the place apart. Thankfully the booze got to him before he killed anyone. Franklin wants him in Med Lab as soon as he wakes up, such aberrant behaviour has set all his medical senses twitching." He gave a small shudder. Personally he hated the medical facility, too many bad memories. And he did not envy Marcus the sort of tests Stephen could think up to explain this sudden step out of character.

"When Doctor Franklin has finished with him, please, see that he reports to me. As _soon_ as he is released." Delenn stressed her order.

Garibaldi gave a quick look down to the serious face still watching the restless Ranger. There was a hardness to her tone that belied the affection he knew Marcus received from the Ambassador. 

__

Looks like Marcus was going to get it every which way! His eyes returning to the screen and the man who was still such a mystery to him. Although Marcus had long been part of the team, on a personal level the Ranger had avoided any intimate contact. He was friendly, eccentric, damn good at his job, but Garibaldi knew little about what made him tick. That he was dedicated to his work he knew, that he would lay down his life for others he was pretty sure was a given, but he had never talked about his past, his dreams, never given away the smallest part of himself. Whatever demons were haunting his slumber he hoped, for Marcus' sake, that he shared them, and soon. He knew from his own experiences just how destructive bottling up your fears could be.

"Mr Garibaldi?" Ambassador Delenn's firm voice recalled him from his musing.

"Sure. I'll make sure one of my guys escorts him right to your door." They exchanged a look of understanding, and then the petite Minbari quietly departed, leaving Garibaldi's gaze to return to the screen, and his erstwhile prisoner.

January 26th

"Stephen! In Valen's name what more do you want? You have taken samples of just about everything I have. This arm," he waved his right hand vaguely in the air, "is half empty. My head is spinning through lack of blood. You should have been a damn Vampire."

Marcus sat slumped over on the bed, eyes bleary, skin an unhealthy shade of puce.

"Your head is spinning because you are dehydrated, and if you'd just sit still long enough I'll get a line in." Franklin's tone was aggrieved. It only seemed a day or two that he had reluctantly let Marcus leave his facility. The damage done to his systems had been severe, his post coma-like state worrying, but he had insisted that he could manage and keeping Marcus where he did not want to be was damn near impossible. Guilt crept into his active mind, had this deterioration been his fault? Should he have insisted that his friend remained in Med Lab, even if it had meant restraining him somehow?

"It's just a hangover. Come on, Stephen give me a shot of something and let me out of here."

"You want to go to Delenn looking like this? The state you are in you won't make it down the first corridor….What is it?" Stephen had caught the sudden wash of emotion on the pale face, quickly hidden, but it had left his eyes panicked.

"Stop fussing, get me sorted out then I can report in." Marcus called on his reserves and gave Stephen his best grin. "For this transgression I might be back here sooner than you think. The Minbari don't like you to flout the rules!"

But it was not thoughts of punishment that had turned his stomach and settled ice in his veins. It was the thought of facing Delenn's penetrating eyes and the disappointment that would surely lurk there. To have lowered himself so far in her esteem cut him hard and he sat with unaccustomed lassitude as Franklin worked.

Zack Allen, sent by Garibaldi to escort the errant ranger to Ambassador Delenn's quarters, stood in the doorway to Med Lab. His cynical eye ran over the drooping figure and he pursed his lips in surprise. The Chief had not explained why Marcus had needed an escort, just that the order was not to be circumvented in any way; both men had experience of Cole's proclivity for disappearing. 

"He fit to go, Doc? The Ambassador seemed kinda anxious to see him."

"Not really, but…" 

Marcus was already sliding off the bench. After half an hour being hooked up to a feed he was feeling a hundred percent better. At least he had been until his feet hit terra firma and the world began to move beneath his boots.

"Damn it, Marcus get back up there!"

"Sorry, Stephen, love to stay but… duty calls. Or at least Delenn, which is pretty much the same thing." He turned his attention to Zack. "I should really go to my quarters, get cleaned up. Delenn won't mind if we take a little detour."

Allen's eyebrow shot up as he gave Marcus a look of disbelief. "Ya think?" his voice heavy with sarcasm. "The Chief'll have my hide if he gets a complaint from…"

"Okay, I get the idea." He ran his hands through the thick matt of his hair, feeling the grime and sticky residue of spilt beverages grate against his skin. As he moved the faint odour of stale sweat and alcohol reached his nose. "Mr Allen, I really think I should..."

"Forget it, Marcus. No can do."

Marcus lifted his chin at the condescension in Zack's tone. Straightening his clothes as best possible he took his place beside the security officer. 

Dr Franklin joined them. "I'll have your tests back in about an hour, maybe a little longer. When you're done with the Ambassador come back here, okay?"

"Sure, Stephen. And all the results will show is that I overdid it a trifle last night. There's nothing wrong with me bar a hangover."

The two men walked in silence through the corridors, Marcus looking straight ahead, trying to compose himself for the upcoming interview. Zack spent his time wondering what had got the Ranger so rattled as to send him on a tear. 

As they approached Green sector and the Ambassador's door Marcus suddenly stopped, turned with a hint of his old humour and did a three sixty pirouette in front of the startled security officer. "Well, how do I look? Correctly dressed for a sacrifice?" His eyes danced with an emotion Zack could not recognise.

"You'll do. Come on, no point putting it off." He understood the Ranger's reluctance to proceed; he looked a mess, smelt even worse, and the Minbari – well - they had certain standards.

Lennier opened the door to them and Marcus, taking a deep breath, stepped into the room. Delenn was speaking quietly to Captain Sheridan; her face composed though her eyes seemed warm on his face. Beside them, Ivanova watched his arrival, eyes widening at the unkempt appearance.

Marcus only heard the tail end of the Ambassador's conversation as she thanked the Captain for something. Then, Sheridan and his second swept past him, curiosity on both their faces. He kept his eyes averted, concentrating on keeping the contents of his stomach where they belonged. Franklin had worked a minor miracle to get him upright and sober, but his body still protested at his mistreatment. Linking his hands before him, Marcus bowed his head in submission, his gaze firmly on the floor in front of him. When he finally raised his eyes to her face he wished he had not. 

Her slight figure was dressed in formal wear indicative of her high status, adding to the power of her personality. Dark eyes swept over his dishevelled form, contempt flitting across her fine features even as her nose wrinkled fastidiously. He opened his mouth to try and apologise for his appearance but she held up one imperious hand, addressing him in high religious caste dialect.

"Anla shoc Cole, Captain Sheridan has been gracious enough to allow the Minbari to deal with this disgraceful lapse of discipline. I have had to give him my personal assurance that your actions of last night will not be repeated. You will not, at any time, allow this to recur. Do I make myself clear?"

He bowed again. "Ambassador Delenn," he replied formally, using the same high dialect, though he was less than fluent in its many convoluted idioms. "I stand before you ashamed of my actions, ready to accept any punishment you deem fit. My apology would be an insult, I can offer no defence, my actions were such that I can only beg your forgiveness." 

"And yet I require an explanation." 

With his eyes averted from her face he did not see the concern that now rested there, he heard only the formal words and authority in her voice.

"I have none. What I did was beyond my powers to mitigate." He looked up then and caught the softening of her features. It nearly undid his resolve to keep the nightmares, the horrible feeling of incipient madness from her. It would ease his spirit to share the fears that even now knocked quietly at his consciousness. He pulled himself together, stiffening his resolve until he stood outwardly relaxed and calm.

Something of his fear must have shown in his face. Delenn moved forward, a frown of concern wrinkling her brow. Dropping her ambassadorial mien she held out a hand to him. "Marcus…"

Marcus quickly dropped his eyes, bowed slightly and spoke, "I wouldn't come too close, I'm not… My apologies, Ambassador, would you excuse me now, I would like to return to my quarters and freshen up. Then I must sort out the cost of the damage I did."

"Very well. Come and see me tomorrow. Whatever is troubling you, Marcus, maybe I can help?"

Marcus could not escape her rooms quickly enough. As the door swished shut behind him he almost ran down the corridor, his passage rapid and born of a deep-seated need for privacy. As the transport doors closed he leant back wearily against the back wall, letting his eyes close against the bright lights, only for them to spring open again as half seen faces sprang to life behind his closed lids. Sweat was trickling down his back leaving him uncomfortably aware of the clothes now sticking to his skin. And all the while the nagging echo of voices ate at him. The vague sensation that if he strained just a little harder he could hear the words. He held out one hand, watching the slight tremor with revulsion. He had been drunk many times in his life, living on a mining colony there was no escaping the camaraderie engendered by the sharing of a pint or two. But he had never suffered as he was now. Besides, alcohol could not explain away his nightmares. This was only the second time anything stronger than coffee had passed his lips since Will had died. At least that time he had had the good sense to desist after the one drink, even if it had been a double Arcturian Slinger!

The quickest route to his quarters would take him through the Zocolo, not a pleasant prospect in his current state. Instead he headed for Grey sector, intending to cut through to a second set of transports and from there to his own rooms. Intent on his route his eyes still noted all that was going on around him until his attention was caught by an unfamiliar voice calling his name from behind. Turning, there was no one in sight, no movement, nothing. He shook his head as though to clear his mind, turning back to his path he ran straight into a small man hurrying in the other direction. An apology was halfway from his mouth when the man's face registered – Shaker! He knew it couldn't be him. Shaker had been banned from the station months before but ever since his week long coma he had been haunted by the man; first in the Zocolo, then in the bar and now here. 

"Sorry, I… sorry." He stumbled away, almost throwing himself into the transport, calling for his sector, shaking from head to foot as though with ague.

***

The minute he was through his own door he had stripped off his dirty clothing, putting them aside for cleaning and pulled out a clean set, laying it on the bed. Carefully he removed his Ranger pin and laid it on the work surface of his small kitchen. Boiling water in both kettle and pans he filled his small sink with hot water and washed his hair thoroughly, removing the grime from its long tendrils, leaving it clean in a way the sonic shower could not compete with. Finally happy that the dirt and smell was removed from his hair he headed for his small bathroom. He stood for a long time under the sonic shower, trying to wash away the smell of disgrace that hung around him, almost as palpable as that of stale sweat and alcohol. Every muscle ached with fatigue; bruises were beginning to show, livid blues and greens against his pale skin.

Wrapping a large towel around his wiry frame, he stepped out into his living/sleeping room. He stared around him, the room at once familiar and foreign. Nothing felt right any more. The candle still sat on his small table, inviting him to him to sit and meditate, but he could not. Moving slowly, as though in a fog, he made an herbal tea and stood sipping the soothing beverage, eyes lost in thought until they caught his reflection in the glass above his sink. Storm green, troubled eyes looked back at him from a face that seemed almost unfamiliar. The dull ache that started somewhere behind his eyes now seemed to suffuse his whole being; he could see it in the lines that crinkled his eyes, in the frown that sat heavily on his brow. 

The cup slid from his suddenly numbed fingers and landed heavily in the sink, smashing the glass into brilliant fragments. "I can't do this," Marcus whispered to his reflection, anguish lacing every soft word. 

He moved back to his bed, looking down at the Ranger uniform that lay there, waiting for him. Picking each piece up one at a time, he neatly folded them, carefully laying one upon the other before retrieving his pin to place it on top of the dark bundle. Beside them he placed the denn'Bok, his fingers tracing the fine workmanship, reluctant to part with the weapon he had worked so hard to earn. But he knew he was dangerous right now, to himself and to others. To be wandering the station armed would be beyond folly. The tenuous hold he had on his emotions would not last; he knew it; could feel the insanity that lurked deep within him. He had to find the answers before he lost it totally.

In his unstable state he never thought to ask for help. He had always coped alone, now was no different. Somewhere on this station lay the answers, he was sure of it. Maybe these last few weeks had been the dream and Maggie was the truth, if he could just find her…

In his wardrobe he possessed one off duty set of clothing, this he quickly donned. Black trousers topped by a black lightweight polo neck jumper, completed with a black jacket. He caught his reflection in the babcom screen; the dark clothes seemed to sever his head from his body imitating the way his mind saw himself.

A few minutes later he left his quarters having left a message for Delenn that would have his friends in an uproar.

*** 

_In another part of the station._

"Well?"

"He's just about there. I let him run into me earlier, nearly shit himself when he thought he recognised me. It won't be long now."

***

Doctor Franklin looked at the test results with disbelief. "Have you double checked this? Are you positive these are for Marcus Cole?"

"I've checked them three times, doctor. They are pretty hard to believe."

"Damn. Okay, get a bed ready, he should be back here soon. And get me Ambassador Delenn." He looked down at the pad, read the findings again and swore, his fertile mind already looking for answers. One thing was sure - they had to get the Ranger back to Med Lab as soon as possible.

*** 

Delenn sat on her sofa and called for her messages on the Babcom system.

'Message from – Captain Sheridan, Message from – Ambassador Molari, Message from – Marcus Cole, Message…'

"Stop. Play message from Marcus Cole."

"Ambassador... Delenn, I…" 

The image looking at her epitomised barely retained distress. She had never seen Marcus so agitated, so close to a breakdown.

"I am sorry… I have to leave, there are things happening to me, things I don't understand. I know that at this moment I am no use to you, the Rangers or to Captain Sheridan. I should have told you, should have explained but… the nightmares, Delenn… I can't face them anymore. I have to find answers or I'll go insane!" Marcus gave an unsteady laugh his eyes moving away from the recorder for a moment, when they returned Delenn saw the despair in his eyes. Instinctively she moved closer to his image, her ready compassion brought to the fore by his obvious need. "I don't know where she is, but Maggie must hold the answers - or Shaker. I'll… I'll return as soon as I can, Delenn, but for now I have to leave, I have to find…I'm sorry…" 

The image blinked out. She moved quickly to the unit and, using her priority codes, was soon linked to Captain Sheridan's office, where he was in a meeting with Ivanova.

"John!"

"Delenn, what is it?" His anxious tone did little to negate her fears.

"It's Marcus. John, something terrible is happening. You have to find him. Please look at this message." She sent through the file for their perusal, waiting for a response with all the patience she could muster.

Captain Sheridan shared a concerned glance with Ivanova. "He's dangerous enough at the best of times, like this…" he gestured to the viewer, "he'll be a down right menace. Get Garibaldi on it right now, and you had better have a word with Stephen. I want to know why this wasn't picked up while he had Marcus under his care." He returned his focus to the viewer and re-linked to Delenn. "I've got my men on it, Delenn. We'll find him ASAP."

"Thank you." Her soft voice tugged at him, he knew how much she liked the Ranger and he could only reiterate their determination to find him, hoping to see the frown vanish from her eyes.

No sooner had Delenn broken her link to the Captain than Doctor Franklin demanded her attention. 

"Ambassador, is Marcus still with you? I need him back in Med Lab right now."

She quickly explained what had occurred and asked for explanations.

"I think we had better call a meeting, I can tell you there what I think is going on with Marcus. I just hope Garibaldi finds him before he does something harmful - to himself or someone else."

*** 

"Well, Stephen, I'm waiting." Sheridan's tone boded ill for the doctor.

"When Marcus was brought in to me I was told he had gone on a binge, got blind drunk and passed out. Still, I did a full gamut of tests just in case someone had spiked his drink or there was some other cause for his sudden lapse. I know the Rangers are supposed to be tea total, but these things happen." He caught the slight nod from the Ambassador and returned it. "Everything seemed to check out fine. The only thing he was suffering from was a nasty hangover for which I prescribed an intravenous drug. By the time Zack called to escort him over to Ambassador Delenn, he had nothing more than a mild headache. But not all the test results were completed, when the narcotic scan came back this was the result." He laid the relevant data onto the table. "Massive levels of Trichloralheptamin, a very powerful psychotic drug. And this had not been a single dose, this must have been taken over days or weeks."

"You're saying Marcus is an addict! I don't believe it!"

"Marcus would never!"

"Why would he do that to himself? The man is not a fool!"

Disclaimers came at Franklin from every side, he did not want to believe it either but his results had shown a consistent abuse.

Susan suddenly slapped her hand on the table, recalling them to the issues at hand. "What if it wasn't self administered after all. You say it was not a one off so, how could someone feed this drug to him undetected?"

"Does he do business at a set place, could they have doctored his drinks there? Or what about where he eats? Marcus may have a set routine, one that his enemies could predict. As soon as Garibaldi checks in get him on it. And someone should check his quarters too. Stephen, you and Ivanova can do that. I don't want this flying round the station, at least not until we are sure. Another thing, who is this Maggie he seems fixated on? Shaker I remember, nasty piece of work who I thought was barred from Babylon 5." Sheridan sent an accusatory look at his second.

"The Maggie thing I don't know. When he was recovering from that shooting incident at Christmas he occasionally spoke. Not that he was aware, more as though he were dreaming. He mentioned that name once or twice, and someone called Naomi, I think. We still know so little of what goes on in a coma patient's mind whilst they are unconscious. It could be that this dream, nightmare, whatever is resurfacing through the drugs influence. And another thing you need to know. The hangover antidote I administered will speed up the effect of the narcotic. For the first few hours it will suppress the psychosis but once it leaves his system he'll be worse than before. Reality and illusion will seem the same to him. He will have no sense of judgement. We have to find him damn fast."

*** 

Down Below was his domain. He knew it from end to end, every nook and cranny, every dirty hole and unsavoury character. There were many that lived and died there that didn't deserve the fate the gods had sent them. Good people that, for one reason or another, were trapped in the cycle of poverty that abounded. Only the shopkeepers, bar keeps and rogues had disposable income. Marcus knew that Maggie lived here, somewhere. Little Naomi had taken refuge here, he had found her, and returned her to her rightful place. The lost and the needy all came to Maggie, he remembered her saying so. Well he was lost and in desperate need and he would search the station from stern to bow until he found his saviour.

He moved slowly now, the station swaying under his carefully placed feet. One hand reached out for support as the floor heaved under him. Were they under attack again? Stumbling, his vision blurring, he careened into a wall of boxes, disappearing into their midst, buried under the fall of metal and wood. Time held no meaning for him; he could have lain there for an hour or a day, his thoughts raging wildly as his head spun.

This part of the station saw very little traffic, and he lay undisturbed for many hours until the faint sound of sobbing reached him. Even in his debilitated state the sound of someone in distress called to him, plucked at his sensibilities until he pulled himself upright. The world still seemed fuzzy and his head was spinning with a nauseating effect. He tipped over, heaving uncontrollably until he could heave no more. Sitting back on his heels he ran one unsteady hand over his face, his palm coming away damp with sweat. "Valen," he muttered under his breath.

Sounds of someone in distress still echoed nearby. A child surely? Lost down here - standing carefully, he turned a slow three sixty, trying to pinpoint their position. Finally he thought he had it, and he took one delicate step through the debris. A rush of nausea threatened to overwhelm him and he stood still, breathing slowly, trying to relax the spasms in his stomach. Another choked sob pulled him around and he stepped forward again, his pace a little more assured.

Crouched behind a pile of rubbish huddled a small blonde girl, her face streaked with tears, eyes reddened from her crying. "Naomi?" he whispered. The waif's face blurred back and forth in his vision. One moment she was blonde with huge brown eyes, the next dark-haired with grey blue orbs that tore through him. The child took one look at him and screamed, her high voice cutting a knife edged path into his sensitive brain. He had no idea how menacing he looked, the dark outfit topped by his dark head, the dancing green eyes that rested no-where, blazing in his pallid face.

"Sweetheart, don't cry. Tell me who you are, where you belong. We'll get you home." It may have been his accent, or the softness of his voice, or the vulnerability that suddenly invaded his persona, whatever it was the child hiccuped the last of her tears and looked at him with a little less fear in her eyes.

Hunkering down in front of her he extended a hand. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Marcus, I work, I used to work for Captain Sheridan, you know who he is?" 

The child nodded solemnly.

"Then you know that he would not let anyone hurt you, and neither will I. Do you know where you live?"

She opened her mouth to speak and then her eyes suddenly slid away from his, resting on something immediately behind him. He saw her sudden intake of breath, the fear that suffused her face, and pushed himself quickly upward.

Behind him ranged two men, both familiar to him from his dreams. Now that they stood before him their faces slipped into place. The taller of the two had stuck him with a knife, nearly killed him… no, no that was not right. Stephen said there was no scar no… whatever, he knew they were trouble. One hand moved to his belt, searching for the denn'Bok, coming away empty. His weapon stolen! Gritting his teeth he prepared to do battle without, knowing he was quite capable of putting these two down bare handed.

The larger of the two men stepped forward, one mighty fist aiming for Marcus' swaying form, the ring on his hand connecting hard against the soft area over his eye as Marcus dodged the blow. Although the world still spun around him Marcus felt stronger and faster than he ever had before. One foot kicked out to land with a satisfying thud in the man's midriff, knocking the wind of out him. The man bent double, clutching his stomach as he tried to drag in a full breath. His companion then thundered in, a wicked piece of piping aimed at Marcus' head. He ducked, grabbing the man's outstretched arm, and used his momentum to barrel him into the nearby wall. There was a sickening crunch as his head met metal and one adversary was out of the game. Marcus span quickly around, teetering as the walls seemed to move in toward him. He shook his head, focussing on the opponent now rushing toward him. In his mind everything began to slow, he had all the time in the world to prepare. His right hand flew out at a tremendous pace, the edge hard and sure as it took the larger man across the windpipe. He felt the snap of bone as his left hand followed in and smacked upwards into the unprotected jaw, forcing the neck back to break point, and the man fell limply to the floor.

The child was forgotten in his triumph. Marcus turned and looked down on the vanquished men, a sense of elation ran through him, a deadly smile played on his lips. He had the insane desire to laugh out loud, to yell his prowess to the world; he could feel it bubbling away inside him. And then the headache returned with a vengeance, blood pounded through his veins setting up a throbbing in his temples that almost brought him to his knees. For a brief instant his hearing deserted him and the world suddenly began and ended with the rush of his own blood. Adrenaline shot round his system for an instant then was gone. His legs lost their power to keep his body upright and he crumpled to his knees, palms flat to the floor in an attempt to prevent his slipping further. As he stared, bemused at the dirty floor, a single splash of red fell, its colour bold and mesmerising. And then another followed it. Fascinated, Marcus reached out a finger to touch the liquid, only to lose his precarious balance, tumbling to the floor with an explosive, "Shit!"

"Mister, are you okay? Mister?" The child had carefully approached him, unheard, unseen. Now her small hand touched his black clad shoulder in an attempt to gain his attention. His head shot around, a bad move as the station decided to turn the other way, and his ill-focussed eyes tried to secure themselves on her face. What he saw there went some way to pulling him back from the edge. It was not Naomi's face that looked at him now but an older child, dark-haired, grey-eyed, who vaguely reminded him of someone he knew. Befuddled though he was, he realised his perceptions were teetering on psychosis. He only hoped he really was talking to a child and not making conversation with thin air.

"I'm okay. I'm okay. I didn't get your name luv, but… did I introduce myself before…" His hand encompassed the carnage all around them. "Anyway, my name is Marcus, and we have to get you home. Do you know where home is?"

"You don't recognise me, do you?" The child's voice was plaintive, hurt. "My name's Syrea." She waited, obviously expecting him to know her. He shook his head, an apology in his eyes. "I'm Maggie's daughter."

At that name she gained his full and undivided attention. "Maggie?"

*** 

Stephen used his override key to enter Marcus' compact rooms. Susan was right behind him, almost in his shoes, as he stepped into the gloom. There was the unpleasant smell of stale alcohol in the air, and something else. Not incense, but a similar scent that just barely registered on their olfactory senses. 

Susan called for the lights to brighten and two sets of eyes immediately locked onto the tidy pile of clothing that sat so incongruously on his rumpled bed. On the small table sat a solitary candle, its wick still faintly glowing leaving a tiny trail of smoke to curl gently upwards. The smell came from there. Using his finger and thumb, Stephen snuffed it out, then smelled the residue on his skin. "Damn!" he quickly ran to the sink to wash off the residue.

"What is it?" Susan was standing by the stack of clothing, her eyes, which had been fixed to the Rangers pin, now turned to watch the doctor in concern.

"That candle is stuffed with Trichloralheptamin!" His hand hovered over the sink as his eyes came to rest on the broken glass and holder in the basin. One piece, larger than the rest, still held the residue of Marcus' last cup of tea. Susan came over at his request and, after putting on the thin surgical gloves they had come prepared with, gingerly lifted what was left of the receptacle out of the sink and tipped its contents into a specimen pot. With no fear of contaminating the tea now, Franklin ran the tap and washed off the candle residue from his fingers. "Better bag the candle too, Susan. I'll go through the fridge and cupboards, can you check the bathroom?" 

Dirty clothes had been tossed to one side, ready to be cleaned. The odour was definitely coming from them. Stains decorated the uniform Marcus had been so proud to wear, and Susan could only wonder at the trauma he must now be going through. The Rangers were his life, his reason for living. The man was dedicated past natural instinct and well into necessity; she had seen it in his eyes countless times. The sight of his abandoned clothing left a hollow pit in her stomach. "What the hell is going on, Marcus?" She muttered to herself.

She checked the room thoroughly, but to no avail. Nothing seemed out of place, or unusual in any way. No medicine resided in his cabinet, not even a headache pill. One small packet of plasters and some shampoo and soap was the sum total of his possessions. His living room revealed little more. Another uniform hung in his cupboard, underwear in the drawers. No pictures, no ornaments, just a small three sided crystal block and the candle. Franklin had checked every cupboard, and the fridge, finding only a few tea bags, some staple provisions. He bagged samples of each and now stood surveying the room.

"He has so little," he commented quietly. "I didn't realise how Spartan his existence was."

"I guess he doesn't need much. The Rangers never seem to be in one place very long, there is only so much you can take with you when you are constantly on the move." Susan had picked up the heavy crystal object, turning it over in her hands, hefting the weight experimentally. "What do you think this is?"

Stephen moved to her side, eyes interested. "The whole Minbari culture seems geared to the number three, maybe this is a religious icon of some sort. I don't see Marcus having it just as an ornament. Perhaps we should return this, his uniform, and pin to Delenn."

Two sets of eyes moved unconsciously to the pile of clothing still sat on the bed. A last testament to the man they both knew so little about. "Wouldn't that seem as though we are writing him off, before we even start looking?" Ivanova's curt tone was laced with concern and anger. "We find him, fix him and we do not mess with his stuff!"

"I didn't mean it like that. Look, once it gets around, and it will, that Marcus is not here, then you can bet this month's credits that one of the lowlife scum will try and get into his quarters. You want him to come back and find this all gone?"

"Damn." She took two swift strides across the room, then turned to him. "Okay, okay, we take this stuff but… we leave him a message on the system, let him know why and who has it."

"Agreed."

Ivanova quickly bagged the clothing, fixed his pin inside her jacket and then picked up the pike. She handled it carefully, having no idea where the release catch was. Holding it gingerly between her two hands she was about to follow Stephen into the corridor when her eyes lit on a tiny scrap of paper tucked down the side of the chair. "Hold on a minute, Stephen."

Gently putting down the denn'Bok she eased the paper from its hiding place, turning it over quickly. A bill, dating just before Xmas, from the jeweller who had been attacked by the Santa raiders. Her eyes fixed on the description and the price. "Oh my god." Her voice only barely reached Franklin's ear.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. It's just an old bill. It doesn't have any baring on this." The receipt was quickly stuffed back into its place, her fingers still trembling slightly. Picking up the pike again, a question began to plague her. "Stephen?"

"Yeah?"

"Just what is happening to Marcus? How is this really affecting him?"

Franklin leaned back against the door and sighed. "The drug has different effects on different physiologies. Marcus, being human, would be one of the worse affected. By now, if he hasn't obtained more of the drug, he's probably heading for withdrawal. But before that he would experience the feeling of invincibility maybe, of superiority. A lot of the 'jumpers' are hooked on this stuff. They think they can fly and just jump, expecting their superhuman powers to let them soar above us all." He shook his head. "Thankfully there is nowhere here for him to try that."

"The airlocks?" Susan's fingers were white against the denn'Bok.

"No chance. Garibaldi has this place sewn up tight. They'll find him Susan."

"Yeah, but…"

*** 

He could not concentrate; the name meant too many things for him to light on just one explanation. 'Maggie' conjured up the face of an elderly woman, a soft healing touch, the smell of lavender, and yet… Marcus could not imagine the woman of his dream having a child so young. Confusion ran riot leaving his head aching, the pain concentrated above his eye. 

"You're hurt. If we can find Mum she could fix you up." Syrea tugged at his sleeve impatiently. "Please mister, I don't want them to find me again." Her eyes now fixed on the bodies laying too close for comfort. Having lived Down Below for all of her eight years, she had seen much more than any child should ever see. But this was too traumatic and she was beginning to shake again, the tears barely suppressed.

Staggering still, Marcus dragged himself upright. Pain lashed through his skull and his hands clasped tightly to his forehead. "Bloody hell!" Brilliant lights played across his vision, blurring the world around him. He put out a hand for support, finding Syrea's small form. "Just give me a minute, just a minute…"

When the lights stopped, and he could see once again, his eyes quickly sought the child's. "Okay, where is home? I think we had best move before my handiwork gets us noticed."

She quoted one of the rougher parts of the station with something like embarrassment. "It's not very nice there but mum can't afford anything else."

Marcus' hand tightened on her shoulder, sympathising with her.

His intimate knowledge of the station proved more than useful. With his conscious mind not functioning on all cylinders his instincts took over. Like tracing a route you have done many times, he led Syrea along passage after passage. As he moved, the sense of power that had suffused him such a short time ago was fleeing his mind and body at a rapid rate. Behind him lay enemies, he knew that, ahead of him lay Maggie and safety, he hoped. 

With each corridor looking almost identical, the youngster was soon turned around but she followed blindly, her faith in her dark angel absolute. His dishevelled, bloodied appearance did nothing to detract from the belief she had in him. He had dealt with the two thugs who had held her captive until that very morning as though they had been nothing. Okay, he was a little strange, but she put that down to the bump on his head, that even now still trickled blood unheeded down his pale features.

Turning one last corner, Marcus and Syrea came face to face with a group of hard-looking men. Grim faces with angry eyes turned as one as the pair came into view. Syrea shrank against Marcus' side, her hand slipping into his for comfort.

Fear tingled down Marcus' spine, its cold trail sending shivers through his arms and legs, leaving them trembling and unwilling to answer his call. All around him faces loomed, a muttering arose from the crowd as they moved purposely forward. Mouths open in angry exclamations seemed to soar close to him, hands reached out to tear him apart. His courage fled, terror took its place and he dropped the child's hand covering his face to block out the sight. Taking a faltering step backward he stumbled, his last conscious thought was that his luck had finally run out. As he drifted from the real world the vague scent of lavender assailed him giving him a slim lifeline of hope to cling to.

A small elderly woman forced her way through the crowd of angry men. "Out of my way. You, move. Let me through." With elbows and small fists she pummelled her way to the front, men stepping back from her hurriedly, a muttered 'sorry' or a hasty 'Margaret' thrown her way.

The sight that met her eyes had her bustling forward. Syrea crouched on the floor, trying to raise the young man lying inert at her side. Tears were running uncontrolled down her cheeks as she switched her attention from the crowd to her companion. She looked up at Margaret's approach and sprang to her feet, running toward her, almost incoherent in her relief. "Nana!"

Clasping her granddaughter tightly, Margaret turned back to the group. "Thank you so much for finding her. I'll always be in your debt. You all know where to find me if you need anything. Thank you."

"What about him. We should deal with that piece of filth first. Can't leave you and the little one until we know it's safe." The speaker took a step forward, his intentions writ plainly on his scowling features.

"No! Nana, don't let them hurt him. He saved me. Well I was sort of saved already, but these two nasty men came after me and Marcus fought them and they hurt him and he's bleeding and I promised him mum would look after him and…"

"Take a breath child," Margaret admonished. "This young man helped you?"

Syrea nodded, tugging at the old woman's hand. "He's not well, Nana. Look what they did to him."

Marcus was an unwholesome sight. The black clothing that sheathed his slim form was dusty from the fight and his time lying among the boxes. Stale vomit spattered his jacket, leaving a gruesome reminder for all to see. Blood had coagulated on his face and clotted into his dark beard. The gash above his eye looked open and raw, its depth attested to by the faint gleam of white bone. Her lips pursed at the state of him. Kneeling with difficulty, she laid one hand on his brow. His skin burned under her palm. She cast a glance behind her, seeing that some of the men, contrary to her expectations, had remained behind. "Could you help me up?" she requested. Two men stepped forward and carefully assisted her to her feet. "My granddaughter says this man helped her, therefore I must help him. He came by his injuries whilst saving her," she added, seeing the disbelieving look on their faces. The men exchanged glances, then moved to pick up the fallen Ranger.

*** 

"What do you mean Jed and Ferent are missing? Syrea got out and all they had to do was track her down and bring her back, just how hard is that to accomplish?"

Shaker stood facing his right hand man, his face turning red with suppressed anger. 

"That's not all, boss. It seems that after the little affray in the bar last night the Ranger has gone missing. I was going to put some more 'stuff' in his room this afternoon when I saw that nosy doctor and that Russian bitch override his codes. I waited around until they left. They didn't look happy, boss. I got in right after them. The candle's gone, the bags, everything. I think they know what's going on."

"Impossible." Shifty eyes moved aimlessly around the room as the man thought his way through the problem. "Okay, okay. Maybe they know about the drug, but they don't know why or who. If we scale up the operation we can still get out of here before the lid blows. We'll just have to do it without our little Ranger's co-operation that's all."

He stood perfectly still, his mind whirling with ideas. Suddenly his eyes snapped onto Jared's face. "The Ambassador doesn't leave for another two days. They will have to find a substitute bodyguard for her now that Cole is missing. Get in touch with the guy in Garibaldi's unit; see if he can get us the new security arrangements. Somehow we have to get on board that ship or the boss is going to have us strung up.

*** 

Cold, deep and penetrating, suffused his body. Shaking uncontrollably, Marcus felt his whole body tremble, even as his head burned. Opening his eyes the grey green orbs danced erratically, not landing on any one thing for more than a second or two. And he ached, my god how he ached. Every limb, every joint. His stomach twisted and turned and he forced himself over trying to disgorge the fire in his belly.

And then there was a supporting hand on his forehead, soft words in his ears. A cool damp cloth replaced the hand as he was gently turned back.

"Lie still, boy. There, don't worry now, I have you safe."

In his delirium he heard her, the voice somehow comforting and familiar from his dreams so long ago.

"Maggie?" he murmured, one hand reaching for her blindly.

Margaret's eyes opened at the unfamiliar appellation. She had not been called that since she was a young woman; her daughter held that name now. Taking his hand she patted it gently. "Yes, dear, I'm Maggie." He ceased his anxious turning almost at once, then his eyes flew open and for a brief minute seemed calm and focused.

"Is she safe?"

"Syrea is fine - a little shaken up that's all. Her mother has put her to bed, to sleep and recover, just as you should do." She removed her hand from his grasp and smoothed it gently across his cheek.

"Sleep?" Marcus suddenly began to chortle, his body heaving with mirth until tears rolled down his cheeks and his laughter turned to distress. "I don't want to sleep. I don't want to sleep ever again."

Margaret, alarmed at his sudden mood swings, sat herself on the bed and reclaimed his hand in both of hers. Her compassion moved by his obvious distress. "My dear boy, if you don't wish to sleep then talk to me. Tell me what troubles you."

Marcus felt the soft touch as his hand was cradled between her lined fingers. Her clasp anchored him, brought him back to the here and now. She had the softest grey eyes he had ever seen, her face so like and yet unlike that of his grandmother. He had nearly spoken of his terrors to Delenn, barely able to contain his needs then, the warmth and understanding this stranger offered was his undoing. He had to share his turmoil or he would drown in his nightmares.

"I suppose it started at Christmas. I was shot doing my good Samaritan bit. There had been a series of raids on the Zocalo, I happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. I stopped the raid on the jewellers I had just been in, only to get shot for my troubles. Then things get a little fuzzy around the edges for me. " His hand had relaxed under her fingers, as though the telling of his story was in some way releasing the unbearable tension that had filled him.

"According to Steven I was unconscious for nearly a week but… Maggie, I swear by all that's holy, I spent best part of the week searching for that bastard Shaker. He had contracted to provide children for desperate couples. Stealing them from Down Below, from the poorest and most desperate, those he thought wouldn't kick up a fuss. And I got him, at least you did, you and your boys."

Margaret had stiffened at Shaker's name. Marcus picked up on her sudden stillness. "You know him?" 

She nodded, her lips thinned as she held back her words with difficulty." Yes, but continue your story, we'll talk about Shaker when you are done."

Even with the sledgehammer headache blurring his senses, Marcus could still feel the anger and fear the old woman generated. "Maggie…"

"Finish you story, then we'll talk."

That same firm unyielding kindness, the same strength that his dream Maggie had possessed, was this real or was he still lying in Franklin's medical facility? It did not really matter, he had to tell his tale or go insane.

"There was a little girl, Naomi, she was my main worry. You, I mean the Maggie of my dream, had found her, taken care of her. Susan and I had been searching for her when two of Shaker's thugs set on us. I thought we'd beaten them but I was hurt, seriously hurt by one of them. The next thing I remember was you, I mean Maggie. Apparently I had been stabbed in the back; she had patched me up. Between us we decided to put Shaker out of business."

"Were you successful?"

The twisted smile on Marcus' face told her all she needed to know. "Oh yes, we stopped him alright, found the kids and got them home. And then I went looking for you and you weren't there, I had no wound on my back, Susan… well, it seemed I dreamed the whole damn thing while I was unconscious." He sighed and moved uncomfortably on the bed, the ache in his limbs making rest almost impossible.

"But it didn't end there, about a week or so after getting out of Med Lab I started dreaming; terrible nightmares that I could not latch onto. I'd wake in the middle of the night filled with… I haven't had dreams like that since my brother was killed. I couldn't remember them you see, I only knew that something bad was going to happen, I didn't know to whom or from where the danger was coming. At least not at first. Last week I kept seeing Shaker's face, in my nightmares, in the Zocalo, everywhere. The Minbari have a deep respect for prophecy, dreams are analysed for the truth of their content. I found that a little difficult in training, having your innermost thoughts turned upside down." His mind drifted idly for a while as he remembered those intense sessions.

Margaret sat quietly, waiting, watching, her hands still clasping his reassuringly.

Marcus pulled himself back. "I lost it then, totally, went on a drunken binge that landed me in the lock-up and then I had to present myself to the Ambassador." Gently, he disengaged his hand from Margaret's touch. "I would never hurt her, never. I have sworn to serve and die if necessary, to keep her safe and yet I deserted her to go on some mad quest to find Shaker, to get these bloody dreams out of my head. She'll never trust me again, none of them will."

"Maybe your quest is not so far fetched. Shaker is here on the station; my granddaughter is his child. About three days ago he came here, ostensibly to talk to Maggie, that's my daughter's name, and to see Syrea. He hadn't been in touch since the child was born. He wanted to arrange for her education, or so he said. My daughter would have none of it, well you know her, and you know how determined she can be. Anyway, yesterday Syrea went missing, she's a good girl, always comes right home if she is visiting, so we went looking for her." Margaret's hands trembled as she recalled that terrible day, searching fruitlessly through the dark and dangerous corners of her world. "Maggie enlisted the help of some of her patrons at the bar, that's when they found you."

Marcus had been listening intently; suddenly this 'Maggie' came to life in his thoughts. The bar he used for meetings, a tall elegant woman, dark-haired, lovely figure. She always had a nice word for everyone; the men at the bar never tried to take advantage, well not often. She had many champions among the clientele, and none wanted to see anything happen to her.

"I thought I recognised one of the men who attacked me, he was straight from my dream, the one who stuck a knife in me. He really did work for Shaker then? I am so bloody confused."

"We'll sort it out. If there is anything my family can do for you, we'll do it. I am more grateful than I can say young man. And I think the first thing is to get you a doctor. I can get in touch with your people; let them know where you are."

"No. Maggie, please, not yet. I need time to think, time to sort out what is going on. I feel a little stretched right now. You are real, aren't you?"

"Last time I checked," she smiled at him. Standing, she leant over him, smoothing a stray lock of damp hair away from his still fevered brow. "I'll get you something to drink, try and rest." With a quick movement she placed a soft maternal kiss on his forehead and left him to his thoughts.

*** 

It was the end of a long arduous day and Ivanova was grateful for the dim lighting and familiarity of her quarters. With the conference on Minbar only two days away and the loss of Marcus Cole, security details that had been in place for a month, suddenly had to be re-jigged. There was always the chance, however slim, that Marcus would part with those details. The state he was in right now, anything seemed possible.

As Susan slipped off her jacket, her finger caught on the fastening that held Marcus' Ranger pin in place. She had forgotten about it as the day's complications had taken precedence in her mind. Even the strained visit to Ambassador Delenn's quarters had not reminded her. Franklin had parcelled up Marcus' belongings and had presented them to the petite Minbari. Her features had shown nothing of the hurt that sparkled in her eyes, but it emanated from her like a physical thing. Delenn had always held Marcus dear, his humour not understood but appreciated, his loyalty never questioned. He was always there when she needed him, always, and now he needed her and she could not help.

Susan slumped back onto the sofa, the ornament held lightly in her fingers. She had never seen him without it. Hell, she had never seen him out of Ranger uniform for that matter. The vid of him, dressed all in black seemed unreal somehow. Laying the pin down on the table she let her head fall back against the cushions as she reviewed her knowledge of him. He had become one of them without any fuss, as though he had been with them all along. He had slid into place unnoticed it seemed. And yet she knew so little about him, despite his humorous map of where he stood in the whole scheme of things. She smiled at the image that rose in her mind, unaware of it twisting awry at the thought of his loss. Almost without volition her fingers sought and found the Wolf's head necklace he had given her bare weeks ago, tracing its contours with soft strokes. That receipt, so many credits! He must have used up virtually all his money on that one item, for her. His room attested to his lack of materialism. He owned pretty much what he stood up in, and that was all. The Minbari government rented the space; they also took care of his food. He must have had some personal allowance but there was nothing to show what it might be spent on… except for the tangible reminder of him that was clasped about her neck always.

Late that afternoon, two corpses had been found in Down Below. Men that Garibaldi had immediately identified as known thugs working for Shaker. Their method of dispatch had pointed to someone highly trained, or extremely lucky. With a Ranger on the loose, Franklin had gone for the former. Autopsy reports had shown that one man had had his skull smashed against a bulkhead, the other had his neck snapped, killing him instantly. And then there had been the blood, a small pool close by the victims. Stephen's analysis had proved it to be that of Marcus Cole. Either he was injured in the fight, or… well, Susan was not going to think of that right now. But it seemed Marcus' nightmare visions were based somehow in fact. Garibaldi's men were even now starting a search for the criminal, but Babylon 5 was a huge area and Shaker had evaded them time and again.

In the morning she would set about the new arrangements for Delenn's transfer to Minbar. Marcus should have been the Ambassador's escort, taking his own small White Star and a handful of security men that Captain Sheridan had insisted on sending along. Now it was going to fall to her to ensure the Ambassador reached her destination safely. 

*** 

When Marcus next woke he was alone. For the first time in days he had slept without dreaming, the relief he felt did much to ease his mind. And he felt physically much stronger. Apart from the nagging headache that still pounded over his eye, and a thirst that would take some quenching, he felt comparatively well. The ache that had consumed his body had receded to no more than a dull inconvenience, no more and his mind seemed somehow clearer, more focussed. Tossing back the covers he sat up gingerly, waiting for the pulse of pain to subside. Someone had stripped him, before putting him to bed, leaving just his underwear for modesty. A searching glance around the room located his clothing, freshly laundered and folded on a chair. But first things first, he needed to take care of nature, his bladder felt fit to burst. The door standing ajar across the room led into a dark space he hoped was the bathroom. Standing on unsteady legs, he manoeuvred his way around the room, using the wall for support. As he passed the closed door opposite the bed the faint sound of voices reached him. He stopped briefly, trying to catch the words but they eluded him, reminiscent of his dreams. With one hand stretched out for support he continued his marathon trek to the beckoning darkness. As he stepped over the threshold lights came on automatically, a glaring, uncompromising brilliance that threatened to blast his retinas into blindness. 

"Dim lights!" he ordered, and the brightness suffused enough that he could finally open his eyes. The bathroom was functional but tiny. A sonic shower cubicle stood in one corner, the usual facilities in another; a round speckled mirror adhered to the wall above the sonic tap. Marcus stared at himself with something like horror. Dark circles deepened his eyes, making his grey green orbs stand out against the dark background. He thought he had looked rough after his drunken binge, this was infinitely worse. Skin that was normally pale seemed almost paper-thin against his jutting cheekbones. A veritable deaths-head stared back at him. The technicoloured black eye stood out in bas-relief, and highlighted the deep red slash that ran over his eye. Someone had expertly sewn the edges together, leaving a trail of dark stitches that followed the curve of his brow. His normally controlled locks hung in limp strands where fever and abuse had taken their toll, and once again a faint tang of body odour assailed him making his stomach curl uncomfortably. 

Marcus spent a long time under the sonic shower, long enough for his mind to clear. He remembered much of what had gone before, some of it a little hazy, some of it in startling clarity. He remembered leaving the message for Delenn, at least, he thought, I had enough sense for that. And he got glimpses of a fight, of a young girl in distress. He could almost feel the impact of the heel of his hand slamming into an unprotected chin. It was one of the moments that still lay behind a mist in his mind, but he was sure he had killed - what worried him more was why?

Dressing was harder than he thought it would be, in the end he sat on the bed and managed one piece of clothing at a time. Reaching for socks and boots proved the most hazardous, as blood rushed to his head each time he bent down. It did little to improve his headache but at least he felt alive now and somewhat in control. Something he had not felt for a very long time. He smoothed one hand down the front of his sweater, the unaccustomed sensation of wool against his fingers felt wrong. There was no weight at his belt where his denn'Bok normally hung, no Ranger pin on his breast to remind him who he was, he felt like a stranger in his own body. But he knew he must find Shaker, that he was the threat, a genuine threat - to whom and why he had not figured out yet, but he would and then there would be a reckoning between them.

He opened the door quietly, every move adding to the ache in his head. At the small table sat three generations of women. The older lady he knew as Maggie, her daughter, whom he knew from the bar also called, confusingly, Maggie, and the youngster he had rescued what seemed a lifetime ago. 

The older Maggie got rapidly to her feet and bore down upon him. "Now what are you doing up? I thought you would sleep a lot longer than this." Her quick comprehensive glance took in his pale features and the slight sway as he stood in the doorway. "Sit down before you fall down," she said sternly, catching his arm and steering him to her recently vacated chair.

Syrea leaned across the table and looked at him with the unconscious openness of the child that she was. "You look terrible. You've got a horrid black eye!"

Marcus chuckled, then winced as it reverberated in his skull. "Out of the mouths of babes," he quoted. "I'll recover, thanks to Maggie here." 

"Oh hush. I did what I could. It's a long time since I helped at the field hospital and I still think you should go above and be seen by a doctor. My stitching isn't as good as it used to be." She looked down at her fingers, now beginning to curl with arthritis.

"I'm more than grateful," Marcus replied, his hand covering hers. "I'm still a little fuzzy about what happened, and why two of you are called Maggie. I think I may have been mixing my dreams with reality - it's been a little rough lately."

"I'll explain," spoke the younger woman whose eyes had not left his face from the moment he had entered the room. "Although everyone calls me Maggie my name is actually Marguerite, mother is Margaret. Most folks call her that as no one seems able to manage my name."

"Your father had a warped sense of humour, my dear. He thought it would be fun to have two 'Maggies' in the family." 

"And how does Shaker come into the equation. Maggie, I mean Margaret, told me that he is Syrea's father?"

Maggie's eyes clouded for a moment, her hands clasped in front of her resting on the table. "I used to work for him, this would be about ten years ago now. At that time he owned a bar on Mars colony. A good quality place, nothing approaching the dive I work in now. I'd been having a rough time of it and he seemed nice. He wasn't much to look at but he treated me okay, at least he did for a while. When I fell pregnant he changed, didn't want the responsibilities that came with being a parent. He fired me from the bar, evicted me from the flat we were sharing." Her fingers were white now, where they laced together. "I came home to mother, and she has looked after us ever since."

Syrea left her seat and came into the circle of her mother's arms. "We moved here about three years ago. I had hoped to make a fresh start, somewhere where Shaker couldn't find us. He had been looking for me for a while by that time. Seems he changed his mind about his duty." She snorted her derision. "I didn't believe it then, and I don't believe it now. I don't know what he wants with her, but if we have to move on again, so be it."

Marcus' eyes rested thoughtfully on the child, his dream coming back to him in some detail. It seemed unlikely that Shaker would want to sell his own child, Maggie was hardly a woman to sit back and do nothing as witnessed by the search party she had organised. "As you say, he's on the station for something, but I don't see him flouting Garibaldi's security to visit a child he has all but abandoned. There must be a more profitable reason."

"Profit is his god, you're right."

They shared a look over the young Syrea's dark curls. "Time for bed, Syrea. Mum, would you?"

Margaret steered the protesting child out of the room, ignoring her "It's not fair, why do I get to miss all the good bits? And I like Marcus, why can't I stay up…"

Maggie sent a fond glance after her daughter, then turned her attention back to Marcus.

"What do you think he's after?"

"Right now I'm finding it hard to think at all," he replied, one hand reaching for his forehead where the pounding he had been ignoring had suddenly upped its insistence. Tremors were running through him, setting his hand to shaking where it lay restlessly in his lap. "I wish I knew what the hell was wrong with me."

Maggie's lips pursed; her gaze contemplative on him. "I think…" she hesitated. "Marcus, don't take this wrong, but do you have a habit?"

Confused he retorted, "Do I look like a monk?!"

She smiled, caught by his real confusion. "I meant a drug habit. Booze, uppers, downers, something like that."

His face turned thunderous at the accusation. "Just what the hell are you implying?" he all but raged at her.

"Don't get upset, it's just that I've seen a few cases… well when Mum brought you back here yesterday…"

"I've been here a day?" Marcus interrupted.

"A day and a half nearly… For goodness sake, will you sit down?" She jumped up and put a firm hand on his shoulder, pressing him back into his seat even as he tried to rise. His body could put up little resistance as she stood her ground. This time she took the seat opposite him, keeping her hand on his shoulder for a moment longer than was necessary to get her point across.

"When Mum brought you home and I got a look at you I was, well to put it mildly, shocked. I'd seen you many a night in the bar, and I had never known you do more than sip at a glass of water. But the state you were in… Marcus, your pupils were so dilated I could hardly tell what colour your eyes were. I've seen that before, when we've had to throw out a junkie, or someone high on some illegal dust. I would never have thought it of you, I still find it hard to believe."

"Then don't," he replied savagely. "I've never taken drugs in my life, and I am not stupid enough to start now. Yes, I got drunk the other night, but that was the first time in years and only because…"

Her steady gaze was unnerving. He had spoken candidly to Margaret, not really believing she existed, but now, now he knew where he was, who he was and this woman was a stranger. 

"Nightmares," she nodded. "Mum told me. But didn't you ask yourself why? If you weren't dosing yourself, could someone have been slipping it to you covertly? I know what you do, Marcus, and you must have enemies."

He nodded, "Yes, but they are more likely to shove a knife in my back, or blast me into little pieces. I have that effect on people you know." Even though his head pounded fit to burst and his fingers trembled, he could not help the one liner slipping past his lips.

"But you can take care of yourself. I saw the results of your handiwork once. Phil wasn't exactly pleased with the mess. But what I need to say is, I'm glad you know how. I dread to think what might have happened to Syrea if it hadn't been you who found her. I don't think Shaker would harm her but… She told me how you dealt with those two thugs."

Maggie laid a hand on his dark clad thigh. "I don't have the words to thank you, but you have to understand how grateful I am. Anything we can do to help you, just ask."

"You haven't got an aspirin by any chance?"

She laughed softly and rose, "The least I can do for my daughter's dark angel. That's what she called you, did you know? It somehow seems to fit, don't you agree, mother?"

Margaret had entered the room unnoticed by Marcus.

"Dark yes, angel… I'd have to think about that," she replied with a smile.

*** 

The meeting was breaking up leaving just Ivanova, Captain Sheridan and Ambassador Delenn still seated at the conference table. Garibaldi had been terse in his report. Apart from the two victims retrieved the day before, there had been no sign of the missing Ranger. Lips were being kept firmly closed in Down Below; not an unusual occurrence, but those who would normally help in a manhunt like this were suddenly not available. He had concluded that he was 'pretty damn sure' Marcus Cole was being harboured in one of the Grey sectors but, unless he had the Captain's permission to search every home and shop, there was no way to prove it. Sheridan had refused, much to his Chief Security officer's disgust. 

"I wish I could put off this meeting. It feels wrong somehow to be leaving here while Marcus is missing." Delenn's quiet voice echoed the varying concerns in the room.

"I know, Delenn. But this meeting has been arranged for a month or more, if you didn't attend now it could ruin our hopes for the Alliance."

She smiled perfunctorily. "I know, it's just…"

"Susan will be your escort. Garibaldi has picked half a dozen of his own men to go along, and you'll be in a White Star. What could go wrong?"

"It's not the mission, John, it's Marcus. I feel I should be here, if he needs me. He answers to me on this station, I feel that I am deserting him in some way."

"If he turns up, Delenn, I promise he'll be looked after until you return. You heard what Stephen said, by now he is probably in the latter stages of withdrawal and ready to bounce into our lives again in a day or two."

"Or he's dead." Her bald statement took the two Earthforce officers by surprise. "Minbari may not have the same abuse problems as humans but I do know what his condition may be and I have no illusions as to the outcome." She did not explain that the previous night had been spent in researching the drug Doctor Franklin had named, and horrifying herself with some of the possible results of its abuse. For the few hours before the meeting she had spent her time in front of her small altar, eyes fixed on the candle's glow as she prayed to Valen to keep her Ranger safe.

"Commander, I will see you at 0700 at docking bay 5. Marcus' White Star will be ready for us to leave then." She bowed slightly, leaving them to watch her departure with mixed feelings.

Sheridan's eyes followed the diminutive figure until she was out of sight, then turned his gaze to his second. "You'll keep and eye open, Susan? With Marcus out of the running I have a feeling that something is going to go down."

"You think someone got him out of the way on purpose? But why? He's visible enough, why not just shoot him or knife him in some dark alleyway. Why this convoluted mess?"

"I don't know," he said slowly. "I just have this feeling in my gut, and it's not indigestion."

***

As night approached, Marcus decided it was time to leave his hosts, but they would have none of it. Discovering that he had been using the bed Maggie and her mother usually shared he had tried to insist that he return to his own quarters.

"Prove to me you can get there under your own steam young man and I'll let you go with pleasure." Margaret stood defiantly in front of him, concern evident on her soft face.

Marcus began to stand, needing the support from both arms braced against the chair just to reach an upright position. The world whirled around him and a soft oath slipped past his lips. The effect of the aspirins had reduced his headache to bearable levels, but increased his lethargy to the point that he knew he could not make it down one corridor, let alone half way across the station. He staggered slightly as he tried to make his way to the door. Only Maggie's arm suddenly slipping round his waist kept him upright. She tightened her hold as he stumbled again, her curves tucked against him with distracting effects.

"Okay, you win." Sinking back into the chair. "But tomorrow, I have to leave tomorrow. Shaker is up to something out there, I need to stop him." 

"Then rest tonight. I'll make up the bed for you…"

But on that point he was insistent. He would take the couch and Maggie and her mother would have their room back. He had slept in places far less comfortable he assured them. Seeing the spots of colour fly on his cheeks, indicating his rising temperature, Margaret touched her daughter's arm and indicated they should let him have his way.

Though Marcus felt exhausted the thought that his enemy still roamed Babylon 5 at will nagged at him, kept him tossing and turning through the night. There was something going on that had passed him by, something of sufficient importance that Shaker would find a way on board the station. That he was behind his drug induced nightmares he was finally beginning to accept. To what purpose eluded him and found him awake at five in the morning.

Lying with his eyes closed, his senses were still alert to every sound within the apartment. From the tick of the old fashioned clock, the one thing the family had of any value, to the little noises emitted from the fridge in the tiny kitchen area. So it was that he heard the soft sound of bare feet creep by his sleeping area the splash of water into a glass and the pad of feet returning. Instead of passing him by though they stopped close to him. He could hear the gently sigh of breathing and almost feel the scrutiny of eyes upon him. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to talk, not wanting to think, he only wanted to rest. 

The stifled sound of sob shattered his resolve. The footsteps were receding again, back toward the kitchen yet he could feel the distress in the air. He sat up slowly; opening his eyes and letting them adjust to the gloom. Maggie stood by the sink; he could just make out her form in the glow from the kitchen standby light. She had both hands clasped against her mouth even as her shoulders heaved with the tears she was trying so desperately to stifle. Should he? Shouldn't he? There really was no contest; he had never been able to pass someone in affliction without at least trying to help. Pulling himself upright, he made his way unsteadily to her side.

"Maggie?" He kept his distance, not sure if she would welcome his interference.

She jumped, startled at his quiet approach. Turning, her face streaked with tears, he saw her struggle to regain control and lose the battle.

"Oh, god, oh god." Maggie's hands returned to her face as she turned from him.

Touching her arm gently he asked, "Can I get your mother? Maggie, please, what's wrong."

She waved her hand in denial still trying to stifle the wracking sobs that shook her slender form.

He stepped close then, gathering her into his arms, his hand soothing on her hair rocking her as he would a child. Maggie clung to him, her tears dripping onto his bare chest.

Finally she pulled herself together and lifted her head from his shoulder. He released her at once and stepped back, giving her her space once more.

"I'm sorry, Marcus. What you must think… It just suddenly hit me, what could have happened to Syrea, what did happen to you. If you hadn't been there, if you hadn't been who you are…" her eyes filled with tears again.

"She's safe, Maggie. I'm safe and we'll deal with Shaker. I won't lie to you, things could get ugly, but I will protect you and your family. You have done so much for me these last two days."

"Is anything wrong?" Margaret, having heard the sounds from the living room had joined them quietly. Seeing her daughter's distress and Marcus' evident embarrassment she stepped in and put an arm around the younger woman's waist.

"Maggie, my dear, come back to bed. Marcus, get some rest, I'll look after her."

He nodded, glad to relinquish his charge, emotional scenes were not his forte, and Maggie's sudden breakdown had rocked him a little.

The incident had, however, banished any thought of sleep from his mind and he settled himself back on the couch, turning on the babcom link and tuning in to ISN. Bulletins passed him by eliciting nothing more than minor interest and then one small news item had his complete attention. In the time since his interview with Delenn he had completely lost track of the days, now it was brought home to him. The article was of no importance, but the date! Today, in less than two hours, Ambassador Delenn would leave the station for a secret meeting of the proposed Alliance. He should have been in charge of that mission, his White Star was assigned for the job; everything began to click into place. Shaker wanted something pretty big, something worth risking a run-in with Garibaldi and a life sentence. And it had to be something Marcus was involved in, for now he was sure the man was behind his slow descent into madness. The only dilemma now was his target, the White Star or the Ambassador - or, Valen protect them, both!

Marcus dressed with what speed he could manage. He dare not use the babcom system to relay a message. For all he knew Shaker had someone on the C&C staff, or in Garibaldi's security team. Better to be paranoid than sorry. He would find Garibaldi first, or Susan, tell them what he suspected, but first he needed his weapon. The loss of the denn'Bok from his side was strangely painful in this time of need. He had been unaware how much a part of him it had become, as had the pin which normally adorned his breast. Yes, first stop his quarters.

As the door swished to close, Maggie and her mother were still sitting on the edge of the bed talking. 

"Does he know how you feel?"

Maggie shook her head. "I'd not even spoken to him until yesterday. He was just a customer at the bar, but… well there was something about him, something that attracted me from the start. I would watch him, night after night, and wonder. I've made such an idiot of myself. I thought I had it under control, and then I saw him lying there, that horrible wound on his face, the scars on him. And he has done so much for us. I couldn't bear it any longer, it just swept through me and I couldn't stop it. I can't tell him; I couldn't bear it if he rejected me. It's better this way, better for both of us."

"Maybe…"

"No. No, I've heard about the Rangers, they don't get into personal relationships. Too much at stake. He's never even looked at the women who are always around in the bar. I thought once he might have someone, you know, someone special and I asked one of the security guys one night."

"And?"

Maggie hesitated. "He said the only woman Marcus takes notice of is Commander Ivanova. But they work together…" Her voice trailed off.

"Talk to him in the morning, dear. If you never talk it out, you'll never know. And he seems like a nice boy."

Maggie gave a watery laugh. "Tell that to the thugs who tried to touch Syrea."

*** 

Sheer willpower and bloody-mindedness kept him upright and moving through one never-ending corridor after another. Traffic was light at that time of the morning, yet he kept as far from the danger spots as he could. He was not stupid, nor did he underestimate his debility in any way, but this had to be done; it was his duty to serve and protect Delenn. That thought burned in him, it had been so deeply indoctrinated into his beliefs that he had no choice but to act, no matter the cost. Finally the welcome sight of a transport hoved into view and he stepped in with a sigh of relief. Resting back against the cold wall he called his destination with some urgency. Although it took only minutes to reach his part of the station, in his head each sixty seconds took him closer to a confrontation he knew he was in no shape to face.

"Come on, come on," he muttered under his breath, eyes glued to the counter by the door. As the door opened he stepped quickly into home territory. Hurrying best he could, he made for his door.

Even before he called for lights he knew something was wrong. He hesitated just outside of the entrance, keeping his body clear of any possible shot from the dark interior, letting his senses search through the gloom, trying to pinpoint the source of his unease. Nothing, no sound, no movement, gave any indication of trespass. He called for lights then, full illumination in all areas, and made another visual sweep of his small rooms. Although the place was tidy he immediately noted the missing items. Memories of his last hours in this room recalled the pile of Ranger clothing, his pin and denn'Bok being placed on the bed, like some ritual pyre. They were missing and he felt a coldness creep through him. His searching gaze fell on the bare table, the empty space on his small shelves, everything that held meaning for him was gone. Breathing suddenly became harder as anger swelled through him at the violation of his privacy, this rape of his personal space. Long fingers clenched into fists at his side, the need to hit out almost overwhelmed him, taking a hasty step forward he smashed down with his right fist smack into the middle of the small table cracking the glass into tiny fragments. 

"Shit!" he cursed as tiny shards flew in every direction. The sudden surge of adrenaline that had fuelled his aggression fled as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving him breathing heavily and leaning against the nearby kitchen unit for support. Susan, he had to find her. As he called for the babcom unit he noticed the message indicator and opened the file with some trepidation.

"Marcus, if you get this message before we see you please understand that what we did was for your own safety."

Susan's concerned face looked at him from the small screen and his fingers reached for the image. It had only been a matter of days and yet he had missed her, missed the prickly attitude, the little quirks that made her unique in his eyes.

"We believe that someone has been slipping you Trichloralheptamin, we found traces of it in some of your tea bags, in the candle, and maybe in other items as well, Stephen is going to analyse everything. If they have access to your quarters then we believe you would rather we removed your Ranger items." Her eyes were defiant as she made the pronouncement. 

"We'll give everything to Delenn for safe keeping." 

Marcus heard Stephen's voice coming from somewhere in the distance "Are you done yet?"

"Yes, just give me a minute." She turned her gaze back to the screen, and he saw the frown descend on her brow. "Marcus…" she hesitated, "come back soon." The vid stopped with an abruptness that did not surprise him. Susan had never been one for sentimentality, and he found himself suddenly hopeful that finally she was feeling for him just a fraction of the emotion he experienced every time she was close. 

"Computer, location of Commander Susan Ivanova."

"Commander Ivanova is currently in a meeting with Ambassador Delenn in the Ambassador's quarters."

***

Shaker stood in the dim recess waiting with what patience he could muster. The last couple of days he had spent most of his time dodging Garibaldi's bloodhounds, each time they got a little closer. The loss of his two henchmen had been a blow to his plans for Syrea, plans that for now would have to wait. He knew where Maggie was; she would not run again, he would see to that. For now he had more important fish to fry.

*** 

The journey to the Ambassadorial suites took forever, or so it seemed to the dark clad Ranger as he finally exited the transport and headed down to the Minbari section of Green sector. He leant heavily against the wall as he pressed for entry. The headache from the night before had returned, along with a savage pain over his eye. It would not surprise him to find he suffered from concussion too, just to make life interesting.

Lennier opened the door and stared in some consternation at the striking figure. "Marcus? Let me call Doctor Franklin for you!"

"No time, Lennier. Where's Delenn?"

"Ambassador Delenn and Commander Ivanova have already left for the White Star. The commander felt…"

Marcus interrupted the aide without compunction, much to his discomposure. "How long ago? Come on Lennier, their safety is at stake."

"About thirty minutes I think, they…"

"My denn'Bok, where is it?" Marcus' eyes scanned the room quickly, finally catching sight of the ancient weapon on the small altar Delenn kept in her room.

"She has been praying for you, every day." 

Lennier's voice was soft yet caught him like a sledgehammer in mid stride. Marcus felt a sudden rush of emotion as his breath caught painfully in his chest. He had behaved so badly at their last meeting, he had deserved her wrath and yet she cared enough to seek Valen's help on his behalf. As a matter of personal philosophy had never truly believed in any all-powerful being, call it God or Valen. If you could not see it, touch it, if it was not tangible in some way, then he found his disbelief hard to suspend. But he respected the Minbari and their beliefs. Marcus knew that Delenn felt somehow guided by the saviour of her people, and that she must be truly worried over him to take this course.

Taking a hasty step forward Marcus retrieved the weapon, feeling it fit snugly into his grasp, its weight solid, familiar, and somehow comforting. Until this moment he had still not trusted his judgement fully.

"Well it worked, okay! Shaker is going to try something, I don't know what but I know it's going down now. We have to get to the White Star before they depart for the meeting place."

At the name 'Shaker' Lennier had stiffened almost imperceptibly, but still Marcus noticed.

"No, I'm not bloody delusional, nor am I paranoid. I had a run-in with two of his thugs and what I learned from the people who took me in makes me positive Shaker is up to no good."

"Then let me call Mr Garibaldi, he has men on the ship as escort for the Ambassador."

"No!" Marcus' hand flew out to stop the Minbari from touching the com panel. Lennier's reply was swift and painful as his other hand caught Marcus' wrist in a crushing grip. "Let me explain! Lennier, let go damn it."

Their eyes locked and Lennier searched the sea green eyes that pleaded with him for understanding. What he saw there seemed to reassure him as to the validity of Marcus' beliefs.

"Explain then."

"Thank you," Marcus replied, rubbing his wrist where the imprint of Lennier's fingers still gleamed angrily against his pale skin. "Shaker is not some myth that I dreamed up. I know I lost it a few days ago but, as you probably know, someone was spiking my food and drink."

Lennier nodded, standing quietly attentive.

"Well that piece of vermin has been causing trouble for longer than I care to think about. A couple of years ago, before I was assigned to the station, I had my own little run in with him. He was ferrying refugees from Transcar Prime to a supposedly safe haven, charging a small fortune for their passage and yet only half ever arrived. He had connections in the emigration offices, in the local government, everywhere; no one questioned his movements. A friend of a friend was one of those who didn't make it. I went looking and caught him disposing of some passengers. It seemed he had 'connections' in the slave trade." He saw the Minbari's look of horror.

"Oh yes, for all our supposedly civilised ways slave trading still goes on. Anyway, I discovered he had dropped off about twenty men on Chandran six, I couldn't get to them…"

"Chandran six?" The normally polite Lennier interposed quickly.

"Yes. Now do you understand why we must stop the Ambassador from taking my White Star? She would be such a prize for them. Think what they could do to the treaty."

"We still need help, you and I alone can not take on this man if he has somehow infiltrated Garibaldi's security detail."

Marcus thought furiously for a moment. "You call Garibaldi, make sure he is a alone and fill him in. Who is piloting the White Star?"

"Shen, at least he was assigned. He was taken ill last night and I had to arrange cover." The soft voice trailed off.

"Then the one telepath available, the one person who might pick up on the threat, is not on board," Marcus stated quietly. "You call Garibaldi, I'll make my way to the ship now, you can catch me up. It won't be difficult." Managing a small rueful smile Marcus headed as quickly as he could toward the transport tube that would take him to the White Star's berth.

He had made it a policy to know every face within the Security Corps. Names sometimes eluded him but he never forgot a face. The man standing guard on the entryway to his ship was unfamiliar. Though he wore the familiar uniform, Marcus was sure he was not legitimate. There was little cover, but he moved quietly from shadow to shadow, his black garb blending into the darkness, until he was a few feet behind the substitute.

Marcus was almost on top of him before the man became aware of his approach, as he spun around, hand reaching for the ppg at his side, Marcus' denn'bok sprang open, catching the unwary victim between the eyes with a savage force. The Ranger watched him go down, standing over him for a moment to make sure he was out of the running. Splinters of pain seared his head from the recoil impact, for a moment the vision in his damaged eye seemed to waver and cloud. Taking a deep breath, Marcus concentrated on keeping upright and staying focused on his mission. 

With the entryway clear, he crept quietly up into the ship. On each side of the narrow corridor rooms exited, two for storage, two as sleeping areas. Normally Marcus ran the ship alone, though there was space enough for five passengers at a push. The ship almost ran itself; there was no need for crew unless the mission demanded it. He opened one door. Inside, trussed like a Christmas turkey, was one of Garibaldi's men, unconscious. Marcus swore softly and closed the door with care. He crept toward the next door, opening it quietly and poking his head into the gloom. In there lay another unconscious form - two down. That left two security, the Minbari pilot, Ivanova and Delenn. 

With his heartbeat racing, Marcus made his way to the bridge where final checks would be just about completed. From his position flattened against the wall he could just make out the backs of two security guards and Ambassador Delenn's small form in the captain's chair. He knew that the pilot would be at his controls, out of his sight at that moment, but there was no sign of Susan.

He could feel the tremble in his legs as exhaustion threatened, and closed his fist tightly around the weapon in his hand, forcing his body to respond. Where the hell were Lennier and Garibaldi? Damn cavalry were always late. 

"C & C, this is Ambassador Delenn, we are now ready for departure."

"Ambassador, you should be clear to leave in five minutes, please hold your position until notified."

Marcus saw the glance exchanged between the two fake security men, watched as one took a step toward the chair, ppg easing from its holster, as the other headed to the left where the pilot would be standing. He could not wait; it had to be now. His priority had to be Delenn. Stepping forward with all the speed he could muster his pike flew open as he aimed for the arm holding the gun. Delenn, hearing his approach, turned rapidly, saw the ppg aimed at her, saw Marcus swinging into action and moved with speed out of the line of fire.

Ivanova, who was standing at the Minbari pilot's shoulder watching with interest his manipulation of the unfamiliar controls, caught the movement from the corner of her eye. There was the faint buzz as a ppg discharged and the pilot fell, a jagged hole blown through his chest. She moved to intercept, not quick enough though to stop the fake security guard from lashing out with his weapon, catching her a glancing blow to the face that sent her sprawling.

Marcus saw the assault and a red mist seemed to descend in front of him. Charging recklessly at the man who had tried to fire on Delenn, his weapon crashed down with stunning effect on the hand now swinging around toward him. He quickly followed with an upward swing that took his opponent under the chin, lifting him high into the air to land heavily against the panelling. Delenn's caused him to spin around as the other guard lifted his ppg, firing at his swiftly moving form. Fuelled by adrenaline and anger Marcus dodged to the side, the blast catching him high on the shoulder, spinning him backwards and sending his pike clattering to the floor. Stunned, his head whirling from sleep deprivation and the effects of withdrawal, Marcus watched helpless as the man closed in.

His adversary suddenly staggered, almost falling onto the downed Ranger and Marcus saw Delenn raise his denn'Bok once more. By now the man was in his range, and he lashed out with both booted feet, sending him careening back into the Minbari Ambassador's skilful down stroke.

Crawling into a kneeling posture, Marcus clung to consciousness as best he could, not believing the fight was over, sure that there would be more for him to do. He was vaguely aware of Delenn's hand on his shoulder, of Susan's curses as she raised herself from the floor and the clatter of boots as Lennier and Garibaldi ran onto the bridge.

"About bloody time," he muttered. Feeling the last of his energy drain from his body Marcus gave up the fight and collapsed, face down, into the waiting arms of the Minbari Ambassador.

***

The dark garbed figure stared out from the small screen hidden in Shaker's palm. Dead eyes seemed to sear through the man who even now tried to bluff his way out of his plight.

"It wasn't my fault. We did everything you asked. It was pure bad luck that the Ranger idea didn't work out, and there was no way we could know he'd be back on the scene in time to ruin our plans!"

"That is what I paid you for. And you were paid handsomely, Mr Shaker. You promised me the White Star and Ambassador Delenn. You disappoint me. With the specifications of that ship we could have halted the Minbari at a stroke, with the Ambassador we could have gained valuable time."

"We could try again? There will be other meetings. I know security will be tight, but they'll get lax soon enough. We could still be partners, I can still deliver."

"I don't accept failure, Mr Shaker."

The words, uttered in tight monosyllables, struck fear into his heart. The image spoke two softly enunciated words. Shaker's eyes seemed to glaze over, then he screamed, just once, as his dead body toppled to the ground. On the screen Bester's face was briefly replaced by the Psi Corps symbol before the link was lost.

*** 

"Can I go, Stephen?"

"I guess. Don't do this to me again though. If you have a problem you damn well come and see me, no matter how you think it looks!"

Marcus grinned hugely at the irritated doctor. "Yes, mother. Now can I go."

Ivanova was on her way to Med Lab from Delenn's quarters, a bundle under her arm. Passing through the exit port she spotted Marcus standing a little to one side, as though waiting for something. He still wore the all black outfit he had been wearing the day before and Susan had to admit it suited him. About to join him she stopped as he suddenly smiled a welcome to a stunning dark-haired woman. Marcus caught the stranger in a hug, then held her from him, hands still resting familiarly on her shoulders, and for a moment Susan felt a surge of some indefinable emotion. Confusion followed as a young girl came speeding toward him, to again be held and hugged; and then an older woman who patted his cheek and smiled at him before pulling him close. Susan had never seen the solitary Ranger interact with anyone like this before. They looked like a family, she thought. His family? It suddenly struck her how little she knew about him, and yet… she fingered the wolf's head through the thin material of her off duty blouse. She could not see the Marcus she knew making such a gesture if he had a family like this to support. 

The computerised voice called last boarding and she watched as he said his goodbyes, turn and make his way without a backward glance toward the transport. Susan hurried to catch up with him, skimming in between the doors with millimetres to spare.

"Marcus."

"Susan!" The Ranger's face lit up. Ivanova wordlessly handed him the parcel she had been carrying under her arm.

"For me? You shouldn't have," he quipped. Marcus tore one corner and saw the familiar material of his ranger uniform, his face serious now.

"We thought… It wasn't right to leave your belongings there. Garibaldi has changed your codes, but you can alter them to suit yourself. Here, you need this as well." Susan rescued the Ranger pin from its place pinned inside her blouse and handed it to him, still warm from its contact with her skin.

Marcus looked fairly bemused, looking from the pin to Susan with a kind of wonder. "Thank you."

Ivanova coughed, a little embarrassed at the look in his eyes and tried to change the subject. "I saw you just now, dispensing hugs - family?"

With a look of pure devilry Marcus cocked his head to one side and replied, " No, but if you need a hug, I am getting quite practised at it. I believe they have a very beneficial effect, especially for people with black eyes."

Susan's hand moved involuntarily to the bruising around her left temple, a legacy from the gunman's assault on board the White Star.

"Thanks, but we Russians are made of sterner stuff." Was that disappointment she had seen flit briefly across his features?

"Okay, but seeing that we have 'his and hers' matching injuries a mutual hug might have gone a long way to heal them!"

The door swished open, giving Susan the excuse she needed to flee from the laughing man who, unseen, blew a kiss at her retreating form.

"One of these days, Susan. One of these days."

The end,

Feed back most welcome. Either review or mail me privately sbenson@cwcom.net


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